Protector of the Inu
by dances-with-cacti
Summary: " . . . A noble dog laid his wide head on the thigh of a new mother, eyes on the tiny child in her arms. Above a face like crumpled leaves, the little boy's hair stood up in tufts of pure white, silver in the sun, a mark of heaven's favor." [AU] [ANBU Kakashi]


That night, dusk sank in like a bruise. Winter dark was always so quick, thumbs of cloud pressing on the sun. Far-off campfires came out like stars, spotting the valley's toothy jaw. We had no flint—the cold hung on us like chains. Moving chaffed, so we were still, tucked like dogs.

Ota spoke first.

"Shit," he said. His mouth steamed.

I looked from him to the horizon. My body rattled inside my armor as shivers plucked me like a wire. _Shit, indeed_. It was only our third night in the hills and already we were bone-bitten, our hands and faces grey with cold. I tucked my fists against my chest and glared out across the woodland. Anger was my only warmth.

I was angry at the season for giving us these winds to bear, and I was angry with the enemy for giving us a reason to bear them. However, despite my frustration, I felt little anxiety. The cold was a nuisance but wasn't dangerous—not yet. My companions and I had decent shelter, we had food, and we were dressed for a blizzard. No one was going to freeze tonight.

I looked at the other two in our three-man team, contemplating their hunched forms carefully.

Ota, my close friend of many years, was a tree-trunk of a man, the heaviest of the three of us. He was brown and hard with a wide, flat head. Like a bear, he lumbered steady and slow. For him, scaling these mountains was no easy task, though downhill he'd proved a juggernaut. I'd never seen anyone wield an axe with such devastating effect. I liked Ota for his predictability. He was a direct man, honest and without secrets. He was unique among our kind, and certainly unlike his present teammates, particularly Kroh.

Kroh was the third member of our little band, the boy with the slate face. By far, he was the most elusive personality I had ever encountered. I'd met him three days before and had learned almost nothing about him since. I knew only what I could see, and I could see that he was young. He was small, probably half my size and a third of Ota's. When he spoke—which wasn't often—his voice would break and betray his age. Otherwise, the boy was inscrutable. He kept a cloth across his mouth and nose, leaving his features to a guess. His eyes, though obviously cunning, were bleak as coal and just as dark.

Only his hair gave me any clue to his history. Standing out in unruly shocks from the leather bandeau tied around his forehead, Kroh's hair was an astonishing sterling-white. Such unusual color was the rare trait of a small clan of sheperds-turned-warriors from the northern islands. It was rumored that these clans-folk were once the guardians of a temple high in the mountains. Renowned throughout the country for their virtue and skill, no opponent dared to challenge them, and so the temple monks lived in peace for many generations. It wasn't until the first Great War that the temple came under threat. Enemies from a distant land had come to plunder places of worship. Though they were badly outnumbered, the clans-folk crossed swords with the invaders, and many perishing on the battlefield. In the end, the invaders were driven out of the mountains, but at great cost. More than half the clan lay dead.

On the night after the battle ended, the leader of the decimated clan was summoned to the temple. She was brought before a sage who told her that her clan had been blessed by heaven. As a reward for their loyalty, her slain kin would be returned to the mortal world in a guise befitting of their bravery. In addition, every clan-child born thereafter would be endowed with a mark of heaven's favor. Uplifted by these predictions, the clan leader returned home to tell her kin the message she'd been given.

The following morning, in the blue of predawn mist, the clans-folk were awakened by dog-song. The howls pulled them from their beds and out into the village where they beheld, off to the east where the forest met the fields, two score of pure-white spitz, coats glowing silver in the breaking daylight. Heads thrown back, they sang and sang until the clan-folk cried out with them, welcoming their brethren home. The spitz came running.

Later that very same day, a noble dog laid his wide head on the thigh of a new mother, eyes on the tiny child in her arms. Above a face like crumpled leaves, the little boy's hair stood up in tufts of pure white, silver in the sun, a mark of heaven's favor.

Ever since, that distant mountain clan was said to have acted as sole protector of the sacred Inu, the Akita-ken, believing each animal to be the incarnation of a loved one's brave soul.

Looking at Kroh, I couldn't help but suspect a connection to this legendary bloodline, and despite the boy's grim disposition, I took his striking hair to be a talisman of good fortune. I smiled into the wind.

"Cursing will do us no good, Ota," I said, "Tomorrow we'll be beyond enemy territory, headed south. We'll have a proper fire. Think of that."

Ota snorted.

"A fire tomorrow is small comfort today, eh, Kroh?"

Kroh's black eyes slid from Ota to me. I smiled and he looked away, shrugging.

"It's not that cold."

Ota laughed.

"Pssh. I'm built like a whale and I'm freezing. You're crazy, kid!"

Kroh didn't reply.

I shook my head.

"Settle in, you two. I'll take first watch."

As I listened to them bed down, I took a cigar from my pocket and prepared to watch the sky. I couldn't help but wonder—what exactly did the Old Man have in mind, assigning me a Hatake?


End file.
